


A Heart Still Beats the Same

by LilithsLullaby



Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: Age Difference, Daddy Issues, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22657924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilithsLullaby/pseuds/LilithsLullaby
Summary: After Shilo watches her father die and abandons the offering of GeneCo, her life has begun anew. She must pave a new path for herself. But the only thing she knows she wants is a certain GraveRobber.
Relationships: GraveRobber/Shilo Wallace
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	A Heart Still Beats the Same

**Author's Note:**

> I have been a fan of this film since it’s release in 2008. I can’t believe I’ve never written anything for it! I just rewatched it last night and I remembered how much I shipped Grave/Shilo (which is canon... thanks Terrance) Hope you enjoy :) (and yes I am writing Shilo as 18+ here because we don’t play with nonconsent) 
> 
> For my usual readers who were not expecting anything other than a Loki-centric fic, you should really check this film out ;)

GraveRobber climbed through the window and landed with a soft thump. It wasn’t that he couldn’t come in through the front door. It was that he had forgotten he was allowed. Force of habit after being a perpetual thief, living on the outskirts of the law. It would definitely take some getting used to.

He found Shilo already asleep on the couch, knees curled into her chest like a cat. It had been a month since she, rather cautiously, invited him to stay with her. Loneliness bred a maniac sort of dread within her. And perhaps she was also afraid. Afraid of the Largos. Afraid of ghosts from the past that emerged from old portraits, still hanging on the walls. He was a friendly face. The only one she knew now that everyone else was gone. He wasn’t sure why she trusted him. Wasn’t sure he deserved it. But the notion of a warm bed and her company was a hard bargain to pass up. Even if it meant reducing his days of Zydrate extraction. He wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. But he slowed down his usual pace. For her.

The small blue bottles were now buried, hidden in the depths of his pockets from that night’s work. They clanked together slightly as he walked. But he hoped she wouldn’t noticed.

As he approached on soft footsteps, he found himself hesitating. He dreaded waking her from what he hoped were dreams of a better world. But he pushed past his trepidation and leaned over the armrest where her head was delicately resting amongst the nest of her folded arms. He breathed her in. She smelled like lavender and innocence. Like sin waiting just beyond his fingertips. He swallowed down the taste she left on his tongue, like it was a rare liquor he needed to savor.

“Time to wake up, kitten,” he whispered. His breathe cascaded down the arch of her neck and she stirred. As she woke, she jerked back slightly from what he thought must have been his sudden proximity. But then she turned away and clenched her mouth tight. He couldn’t help but laugh. “Do I smell that bad?”

She exhaled deeply. “I’m sorry.” She turned to give him an apologetic look. “Hi.”

“I’ll go take a shower.”

She nodded meekly and he obediently followed her silent command with a bow in departure.

Living on the streets did not really afford the opportunity for frequent bathing. He must have gotten used to his own stench, the mark of his trade. The smell of the dead and the dying clung to him like a second skin. But now that he was attempting to be more civilized, it didn’t hurt to wash a little behind his ears. He found the shower and quickly stepped under its cascade of relief. 

“Grave?” Shilo’s voice came from the other side of the door a few moments later.

“Hm?” He called back as he lathered the soap and scrubbed off the dirt and grime from his body.

“I have a towel. I’ll just leave it here for you.” She timidly stepped inside and set the towel down on the sink. Her gaze held to the floor. Her naïveté made the beast inside of him howl. He grinned wickedly at her, though she did not notice. They had both been dancing around a sexual tension he hoped was mutual. One of them had to make a step. One of them had to break the wall between them or else he would have to force it down.

“Hey, I’m sorry if that was rude of me before,” she called back, now on the other side of the door. She sounded nervous.

“Wasn’t rude. Only honest,” he told her in reply.

She was quiet for a moment. He thought she had gone until she spoke again. “Did you go out tonight, while I was asleep?”

He set the soap aside, turning off the water. “I did.”

“Were your usual clients asking for you?”

He knew immediately what she meant. The girls in the alley who turned tricks for his Zydrate.

“No,” he answered simply. He tried to stay clear of them these days. Though a few times he had slipped. A few times his need for pleasure outweighed reason.

“Oh.” She didn’t sound as elated as he would have liked. But the truth was Shiloh often had to fight back the image of him holding his gun to Amber’s thigh, as if he knew every part of her more intimately than she knew herself.

He stepped into the hallway a moment later. In the dim light, Shilo could make out the harsh features of his once painted face. Now stripped of his mask, he looked older than she imagined he might. Worn by life on the streets. His eyes held to her, just as blue as before but no longer emphasized by black. Her gaze fell unceremoniously to take him in. His hair was still wet and dripped onto the floor, cascading over his shoulders. His bare chest was muscular but scarred. The white threads turned his skin into a poor man’s patchwork. One in particular, thick and straining to heal, held right over where a new heart, presumably, had been placed inside.

“You’ve had surgery,” she noted. Her voice was precautious, afraid to speak further on the subject unless he indulged her.

“Only the one,” he replied. “Didn’t really have a choice.”

He remembered the way his vision blurred into darkness. The way the cold emptiness of death crept in. He had been ready to embrace it. But then there was light, blinding, radiating from above the surgical table. And a contract to sign in blood.

Without thinking, Shilo stepped forward toward him and tenderly placed her palm flesh to the scar. She felt his heart, felt it thumping obediently beneath her touch. It quickened slightly as if an answer to her call. This heart might have been repoed from another soul past due. A heart belonging to someone like her, living on borrowed time. He saw it in her eyes. The memory of her father glazed over her vision. He tried to move away but she took his hand and guided it to her own chest to keep him there.

“Still beats the same,” she whispered gently.

His mouth slacked slightly as he gazed down at her in awe. His other hand still held to the towel at his waist but this hand, this ghastly, scarred, dirt under the fingernails monstrosity, was held to something so pure. Something he didn’t deserve. This creature, this sheltered little bug, was allowing him to touch her. He could not let this moment pass. Not without pushing his luck. His touch shifted, smoothing across her chest until his fingertips landed on her perked nipple. He flicked his fingers across it until she gasped a relinquished moan. But she shivered beneath him in a way that was not entirely from pleasure.

“Grave, I...” She took a step back and his hand fell to his side. Useless.

“I’m sorry, kid.” He gripped the towel hard. It was wrong. She was barely an adult, still a child by most definitions. He wouldn’t do this. Not if she didn’t feel the same. Anger pooled against his chest. He wasn’t that man anymore. He wouldn’t take it. He would only have her if she gave herself freely to him. “I shouldn’t have assumed you wanted that.”

“But I do!” She quickly interjected only to pause to allow a deep blush to bloom across her cheeks. “Its just I’ve never...”

He could have punched himself square in the face right then and there. Of course she hadn’t. She had been a shut-in all her life. With little to no interaction with the outside world. Even a simple caress was braving new territory for her.

“Of course you haven’t,” he said with a soft smile. “And we don’t have to now.” He studied her expression. The way it twisted in a way that looked quite painful. “I’ll go get dressed,” he said in defeat. He tried to step away toward his room, to end the conversation there but she reached out a hand, stopping him.

“Can’t we... start small?” She could barely meet his gaze now. As if he meant to undress her with it. But her hand still held to his bicep. Her thumb mindlessly caressed his skin. She wanted to try. She wanted him. That same beast’s roar thundered inside of him, screaming for release. He didn’t know how to do small. Only large and violent gestures. But he would try for her.

“Come here.” He took her hand and led her into his room. It once belonged to her father but all evidence of him had been stripped from the walls. What remained was distinctively Grave’s in a way he hoped she appreciated. He hoped she wouldn’t think of him now. He had enough of her daddy issues left to navigate. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her down gently to sit beside him.

“Where shall we start?” He asked with a devastatingly seductive sneer.

“I don’t... I don’t know.” She fidgeted nervously with her skirt, picking at the lace. As if now that the offering was laid out in front of her, she feared it was poisonous. This wouldn’t work. A gentle approach wasn’t his style. But if she wanted him, the real him, he would have to give her everything. All of his roughness. She would have him at his best and his worse. She would have the beast released.

GraveRobber leaned into her. He pushed her hair back behind her ear. Her real hair has begun to grow beneath the wig. He felt the stubble beneath his fingertips. She shivered again but this time, he felt her need. Real and as desperate as his own. He let his hand fall beneath her chin to lift her gaze. She fell into those blue eyes as if they were pools of Zydrate, taking the pain away. Numbing the world around her into blurred oblivion.

“You have to tell me what you want, little girl, or you get nothing.”

She bit her lip and pressed her thighs almost instinctively together. She needed the pressure there. “Is this wrong?” She asked. There was subtext there. _Is it wrong for us to be together like this?_

“Only if you make it wrong,” he answered as his hand fell to her thigh. He pried her hand away so he had free reign of the fabric. He pushed it higher so he could feel her skin. It was soft, cool beneath the roughness of his hand. “Now tell me what you want.” This time it wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order. Stern in its delivery.

“I want you to... kiss me,” she finally admitted. Subconsciously, her eyes fell to his lips which he licked slowly for her benefit.

“Where?” He asked as he leaned down over her shoulder so that his lips were posed at her neck. “Here?” He made contact, slowly drawing a line along the arch of her throat. She hummed in response. The sound of it vibrated against his lips. He relinquished in that sweet surrender. She reached up and held tight to his arm. It may have been meant to stop him but the strain of her grip felt like permission, begging.

“Or maybe... here?” He pulled her blouse slightly open and suckled on the skin around her collar bone. She whimpered but the sound faded into moans. A curse on her lips. He left a bruise in his wake, the color of roses. Though none bloomed naturally anymore. She arched her back as he kissed her. Her legs fell open. He saw his next opportunity.

“No, I know where you want to be kissed.” He moved away from her, only for a moment. But it was a moment too long as Shilo huffed in frustration and reached for him. Like a child, grabbing at the empty air. But when he returned to her, he was posed between her parted legs on the floor. A hand on either knee. He smirked devilishly up at her. The sight alone made Shilo weak to surrender. He did not wait for her go ahead before he was moving forward below her skirts.

“Wait!” She cautioned as she pulled him up and away. He looked at her a bit dazed before she yanked him into her and their lips collided.

She tasted like his youth. Like a time he wanted to forget and yet relive all the same. Like his first love, his hopes and dreams abandoned, and clarity, clean of drugs and abuse. He drank of her and that sensation until he was drunk off of it. He moaned into her mouth and pushed into her hard. She reached up and tugged at his hair as he slid his tongue into her willing mouth. She wasn’t sure if she was doing anything correctly. Every movement felt forced, unnatural. Wrong. So he took the lead gladly and pushed her back onto the bed. He came over her, caging her beneath his arms, his knees on either side of her legs. She gazed up at him with such wide eyed trust and vulnerability that he almost lost his cool completely. The towel at his waist began to slip but he let it fall. His hand found a button, and then two, and before long, her blouse was forgotten.

“How’s this for starting slow?” He growled as he took her earlobe between his teeth. She squirmed beneath him but wrapped her legs up around his waist all the same. Nature taking hold. It was only then did she realize he was completely naked on top of her.

“I didn’t think we’d do this...” she muttered as she slowly lowered her feet back down onto the bed. She turned her head and pushed her pelvis back into the mattress, avoiding his offered sex at all costs.

“At all or just tonight?” He asked as, frustrated, he rolled off of her and reached for a discarded pair of pants on the floor, effectively dubbing the effort a lost cause.

“Is this how it normally works?” She asked so softly he almost didn’t hear her. 

“No,” he replied honestly. He held the pants between his legs, hesitating to put them on just yet. “It’s usually faster.”

“Oh.” She pulled her knees protectively to her chest and cradled them there. She closed her eyes.

He turned to her. She looked broken. Defeated. As if her hesitance drained him of his want for her. But it was the opposite. It made him want her all the more. To be teacher and maker. To be guardian and lover. Breaker and redeemer. He reached out and let his fingertips drip down her bare back, tracing her spine. She shivered but melted back into his offered touch. As effortless as breathing. “Whatever we are. Whatever this is... it doesn’t have to be normal, Shilo.”

It had been so long since he called her by her name. Perhaps he never had. She couldn’t even recall a time when he did. It felt almost foreign, a performance between them. She turned to look at him then and realized she didn’t even know his own true name. His birth name. That wasn’t normal either, was it? His name was also a performance. And this connection between them was the stage.

But as her eyes fell to his scar, she remembered that the world was no longer “normal.” Hadn’t been for so many years. Love and sex were whatever you made them to be. And happiness needed to be taken wherever it could be found. Here, he was hers. Amidst blood and betrayal, he was that happiness. She reached out and threaded her fingers through his. He held her hand tight and allowed her to pull him back, closer than before.

“I’ll ask you again, but only once more.” His eyes danced over her bare breasts as he reached to caress them. Delicate fingertips smoothing over those soft, supple mounds. His cock twitched with wanting. “What do you want, little girl?”

“I want you.” Her words were confident this time. As if something inside of her had finally broken; the cage set open and the bird now free. “I really want you.”

“Then take what you want,” he ordered and she obeyed.

She pushed him down onto the bed and came atop to straddle him. His eyes went wide with sudden shock. This creature was not his Shilo. This was something new. Something they’d both created. Something that had emerged out of death and blood and come out gleaming with potential. With freedom. He reached up and held her. He glided his hand between her legs, to push her little cotton panties aside, but she had already done so. He sighed a curse as he took in the sight of her virgin flesh.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted with an embarrassed blush.

“Give me your hand.”

She did so and he guided her touch til it was wrapped around his now throbbing cock. He closed his eyes and sighed as she stroked him slightly, automatically, getting a feel for what would soon be inside of her. He choked back a deeper moan as she continued on without his urging. He guided her hand and his cock toward are awaiting entrance. But first, he slide a finger across her slit to get a feel of her. To get a sensation of that purity before it was torn and taken. Every women he’d taken in those dirty alleys had known every scripture of the act. Had been used and abused for the sack of a deadly drug. But here, his Shilo, she was only his. She shuddered as he traced her small opening. His finger came back coated in her wetness. He took her sleek and painted his cock in it. Anointed it.

“Follow my lead,” he moaned. Together,with his hand wrapped around hers, they pushed his cock toward it’s awaiting deliverance. She adjusted her hips and slide down to sheath him inside. She gasped a scream, head thrown back as he pushed up violently into her all the way. She clenched around him, tighter than he’d ever had. She stilled, breathing heavy as she took a shaky hand and clinched to his chest to ride the pain. Slowly, timidly, she pushed up off of him slightly. A small, almost delicate trickle of blood marked the length of him. Taken. Broken. His.

But her face still twisted with agony with each movement. He arched toward her, holding either side of her face as he kissed her once more. Deeply this time. Tenderly.

“Pain can be pleasure,” he told her. The words whispered against her lips. His fingers found her mouth, prying it open as he pushed her back down onto him. “Embrace it.” He thrust hard for emphasis and she cried out for him. A sheen of wetness painted her lashes but he would not have her tears. He sat up fully, a hand on his hips and the other wrapped around her back holding her to him.

“Does it always have to hurt?” She asked, though pleasure threaded through the pain in her voice. 

“No, not always,” he told her as he kissed her forehead. “Not if you don’t want it to.”

She wasn’t sure what answer to give so she bit her lip instead and continued to rock against him until that pain gradually faded into ecstasy. Her hand came back to his chest. His heart screamed. Thundered for attention. Alive. She pressed her chest against his and held him close. Her tears fell freely as the last of many locks broke. She screamed the mark of her freedom into the endless night and he answered her call with his own howl. His nails went into her back as he found his release. A kiss to her forehead, another for his own worn and battered cheek. He held her tight to his chest as they let that pain simmer. As they found pleasure in the wreckage. Their hearts held side by side echoed the other’s intention. No matter the origin, the past and future melded into one path forward. Old or new, broken or borrowed, their hearts still beat the same. 


End file.
